


Bucky's Demise

by stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Cliffhanger, Death, Essay, Hurt, Other, Pain, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, falling, short fic, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:16:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stucky/pseuds/stucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had to write a 800 - 1,000 word narrative essay, so this is what I wrote.<br/>Just a short fic between the First Avenger and the Winter Soldier about Bucky falling off the cliff and becoming the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky's Demise

When Sergeant Barnes’ hands slipped off the rails on the train, he would have sworn he was dead . He could only watch as the train sped on, and Captain Rogers’ outstretched arm grew smaller. It was already too late, but he still held out his arm, hoping to catch himself from falling to the ground. But he couldn’t; the rock face on either side of the valley was as unforgiving as the rocks racing to meet his back. He was going to die either way. He watched his life flash before his eyes, finding himself thankful that in the end, it was him and not Rogers. What the Sergeant didn’t expect to find was that this long fall was not his end, but a beginning to an entirely new life.

The cliff must have been slanted, as the left side of his body ricocheted off of it, speeding up his demise. There was no doubt of pain when he met the ground. The snow didn’t generally reach that far down the middle of the ravine, so it wasn’t much of a cushion. He was alive, and he didn’t understand why. He felt lighter for sure but was in copious amounts of pain. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears: it was deafening, as if it was echoing all around him. Beneath the sound of heart, he realized he was screaming in pain. He tried to get a his bearings, but every movement was unbearable. His vision was blurred: all he could see were spots and foggy mountains above. He was not sure how much time had passed when he could make out human forms. They were speaking to him, but all he could make out was muffled German. Before he knew it, he was being dragged through the snow by his right arm, a trail of blood following his left side. He gathered the strength the move his head for a better view and found shock. His left arm was gone. Panic rising from the base of his stomach, he nearly retched. He tried to speak, perhaps to ask where his arm is and if these people dragging him away would reattach it. Could they? He began to black out; he was in far too much pain and was cold as ice. The Sergeant let go, unsure if he was going to be unconscious or if he was going to die. Either way, he found he didn’t care anymore.

He knows he didn’t die as he wakes up in haze in some sort of medical room. His vision is still hazy, but not as bad as it had been before. He turns his head to left to see an older man with his back turned. The old man suddenly turns to face him, speaking with a heavy German accent. He appears to be explaining something, but the Sergeant is much too disoriented to follow the speech. He followed the German man’s hand gestures, which keep indicating the Sergeant’s left arm. He tilts his head down to see it, but can’t quite explain what he sees. He has an arm again, but it’s a prosthetic. No, not even that. It’s metal. Sergeant Barnes raises both of his hands in front of his face. One flesh, and one metal. It is this moment when he has several realizations: he’s no longer in pain; he’s still cold; these men are German, which means he’s a prisoner of the second world war; he feels stronger than he’s ever felt before. In light of the final realization, Barnes quickly attacks whomever he comes in contact with. His actions prove to be futile when one jabs his arm with a needle. He quickly hits the floor, wondering if he would wake up again, or if this was his death. He isn’t sure which would be better.

The next time he wakes up, he’s sure he must be dead. He can’t remember anything. All he knows is that he’s a human being, but that’s it. He isn’t sure where he is, or how he got there. The only conclusion he can come to is that he is dead, and he is conscious of it: a ghost. Surely this must be what was happening. It was all that made sense to him. However he found his conclusions wrong when someone came into the room where he was residing, and spoke to him directly. Four more men entered, donning extreme protective gear. What he did know, or feel rather, was that these people were bad, and he shouldn’t be near them. He tried to fight back, but his body felt like it was full of sand, and his head rushed with every move. Even with his slow movement, the fifth person jabbed him with a needle again, and then the four men quickly strapped him into some sort of vertical table with wheels. He let go of himself, finding it best to give into the darkness, hoping he would meet death this time.

The next time he remembers waking up, he feels as if he were reborn. His hair is to his shoulders now, but he doesn’t remember it growing. He still has no memory of his past life, which makes sense, as one usually doesn’t remember one’s past life. Each time he is “reborn”, there are new people overseeing him. They never call him by a name; they simply give him directions. He can never recall what he did when the world goes black again. This time they asked him to end someone’s life. He did not protest, as this is what he is used for now. He never thought about whether or not he wanted to do what they told him, simply that he had to. When they came face to face, his victim had but one word to say: “Bucky?” Suddenly he remembers his life, remembers his name: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. And he remembers his victim: Captain Steve Rogers.

**Author's Note:**

> My teacher gave me a 97 for this assignment. >w>


End file.
